Time
by trunks111
Summary: GaaraNaruto. Yaoi. Warnings: Self-hate, Swearing, Self-Harm, Suicide. Gaara is clinically depressed among other things. He is in a constant state of war with himself. He feels beyond any help and knows it is only a matter of time before he is given that which he desires most. Will someone change his outlook or is he to be as he feels he must be?
1. Realizations

'It's almost been a year,' Gaara thought, 'In another two months and it will be a year.'

His dark ringed eyes stared past the window and desk in front of him, seeing nothing, lost in his memories.  
'My chest hurts,' he thought dully, 'I can't believe it's almost been a year.'

For a moment, his grip on his pencil tightened.  
'Almost a year, and nothing has changed. I still feel the same way. Not in the same phrasing, but the same base feelings are still there. I feel as though it has all been for naught. Honestly. Nothing has gotten better, I am still the same as I was. I have a clearer plan, this time, but overall, nothing has changed.'

He looked away from the paper, covered in his slightly messy scrawl. No more boyfriend, just a roommate and a scattering of friends. None he was terribly close to either. Not close enough for this, anyway.  
With a deep exhale, his shoulders dropped as did his head, refocusing on the paper before him. 'I don't know, anything. Why I'm here, why I continue, if I even want to continue. I'm just so tired, all the time. My chest feels funny.'

He paused, glancing up, green eyes taking in the sunlight and the beautiful scenery that lay just outside the four walls around him.  
Usually, he found joy, in such things. But..., he felt nothing.  
Looking back down, he wrote a little more. 'I'm tired of this, all of it. Where I used to find joy, I only find frustration and a want for more sleep. I don't even want to be awake. I desire that eternal sleep. I can feel it, tugging me. Beckoning, but I know, oh I know it is naught but a lie. I will awake in my bed, just like always. It always taunts me so. It's cruel, is it not? Far too cruel. To tempt, endlessly, and never give. I know it is wrong, but I have no idea of how to change it. Death refuses to come, as much as I beg. I should have died, the last time. I took..., so many..., but no. Instead, I awoke. And it crashed, again. And that, is how you know, you are a failure. When even Death will not take you. Despite everything.'

He sighed and looked away before he began scribbling once more. 'I don't want to do anything. I have no desire. I know I should do, I should want. But I don't. Everything seems pointless. Worthless. I know, I'll feel better in a few days, forget about this. Hell, it may not even take days. I could sleep and wake up feeling fine. I hate it. All of it. I'm tired of..., everything. I'll forget, I always do. I forget the low, I'll forget the high. And the middle. I'll forget. It'll fade away. It'll come back with a vengeance. It'll feel like my head is trying to split open, like I'm being torn apart. I don't wanna feel this way any more. I'm tired of it. I've been tired of it. Nothing ever changes. I remain the same. Everything fades, except that one desire. The one that can never be fulfilled. I can try, but it's still there. Deep down, I know, I hate myself. I hate my weakness, my incapability to do that which I long to. My incompetence, so much in fact, that I cannot even succeed at the one thing that would bring me happiness. But here, I sit. Surrounded, yet alone.'

'I want to hurt,' he wrote, his eyes yet again, filling with tears that would not fall. 'I want to feel pain. This psychological torment is too much. I need to fucking feel. Just something. I can't though. I fucking can't and I know it. But why the hell can't I? For what gods damned reason can I not do as I please? Fuck knows what it is that holds me back. I long to reach out to someone, but who? I feel as though I would just be burndening them. I should be able to stand upon my own two feet, by myself. I need no one. I don't want to need anyone. But in this..., I don't feel as though I can do this. I don't want to try any more. No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, I still don't want to. I'm beyond tired. Beyond exhaustion.'

Few tears fell, but he did not wipe them away, continuing instead. 'It's always there. These feelings. I'll always feel alone. Even if someone were to truly love me. For all I am, I would still feel alone. Because as much as they think they know me, they never really do. I can't be truly open with anyone. I've know that for years. Perhaps, my whole life. No one likes that which lurks within me. My twisted ideals and views. I am unconvinced. It's really, all I want. It always has been, I've known. I still can't believe it's almost been a year. To what end, I must wonder. To what fucking end?'

'Frequently, I think, I want an end. This could mean so very many different things. To each person I have told, they have garnered a different meaning and never the one I mean. One did, but did not grasp fully my entire meaning of the end of which I speak. The ultimate ending, Death. It's what I want. I am tired of everything. I am told it gets better, I still have not witnessed this. I merely want that which has been denied me on too many occasions. A simple request, no? Alas, here I sit, writing to an end I know naught. But I write, I feel lighter, for a time. It will return, all of it. The darkness never goes for long. Borne unto darkness, it follows me every where. It always has. Haunting me, but never granting me Eternity. I do not understand it, not at all. A cosmic joke? Perhaps.'

He sighed and wiped his eyes, the dried tears on his face gritty.  
Closing the notebook, he returned it to the drawer on his side of the desk. He picked clothes from the floor and went to the bathroom across the hall, changing before returning to the room and laying in his bed, clad now in boxers with pockets and an oversized t-shirt. He turned the tv and Xbox 360 on. He set Hulu to playing something and rolled over. He clutched his bear to his chest as he closed his eyes. Exhaustion overtook him, plunging him into slumber, filled with dreams.


	2. Deep Introspection

'Do you know what it's like to forget your very self? To be in the process of losing everything and everyone you've ever cared about. I can remember conversations, but not the people with which I had them. I can clearly remember _someone_ but I cannot recall their name or their face. I have little, and I am losing it all.  
I know it is a slow process, a slow thing, dragged out over the years. But sometimes..., it feels as though years have been stripped from me in mere hours. I can be doing something normal, monotonus, and then I start to remember something, but whatever it is, won't come. And I'll stop, standing there, desperately grasping at the tendrils of memory as they slip further and further away.'

He looks away from the paper before him, gazing instead out the open window. A cold breeze blows in, it's not quite fall, but it's passed summer. The mornings are freezing and the days scorching. It looks peaceful outside.  
He can feel the despair sinking in, and so he tears his gaze from the outside world and returns it to the paper.

'More often than not, I think I'm losing my grip on this reality. I had a friend over, last night, he gave me a hug. I..., I have not had such human contact like that in quite a while. Long enough, that my body reacted the way I used to. Completely rigid, it felt as though my heart stopped and I felt a cold detachment.  
I know it was naught but a simple hug, but..., my reaction should not have regressed that far.'

The red head grimaced and after a moment, continued to write.

'Due to medical complications, I have a new ... shrink. I can't say I'm too fond of her. She says "Mhm", far too often. It is rather infuriating. I suppose, in time, I will accustom to her as I did my old. Even though I know it is not really helping, and my outlook has not changed..., I must continue.'

He touched his forehead tattoo.

'Love. A foolish notion. Too much is placed in it's inattainable wreaths. For it..., war, kidnapping, murder. So much is done in its name. Yet..., do any truly _love_? I don't know. I've learned something about myself, in these months alone. I do not experience romantic attraction. Yes, I can say and do the things needed to win a heart, that is easy. But I do not  feel like one is supposed to. Sure, I can find individuals aesthetically pleasing, but I have zero desires of affection towards them. I would prefer they leave me to go about my business alone. Though I suppose if everyone I encountered heeded this..., I would not have the few great friends I do have.  
Even so..., I do not think I love in the normal, societal viewed way. I prefer my solitude.  
Why then..., I must ask, have I undertaken these foolish relationships? They always ended, lasting far longer than was strictly necessary. I have thought about this for quite some time. Pondering my own motives for what I now view as mistakes. I have garnered understanding of myself. I am foolish and do not really seem to learn from all the mistakes, as they keep piling up. But always, in each relationship, that person was someone I could _use_. Use them, and then toss them aside. However..., those messy things called  feelings would always impede my true desires. I used to think myself better than being a user, but on a level, we are _all_ users. I have come to think that it is human nature. Survival of the fittest, of those best equipped to do as is necessary to survive and have no qualms about it.  
Perhaps at one point, I did love, obviously not in the healthy way one loves another, but in some way, in my own very twisted understanding of the word and feeling, I think I loved. Perhaps it was some sick psychological torment for myself, because that's how it always ended, hating myself ever more for what I did _with_ those I thought I  felt for.'

Gaara made a face at his paper, not that it could react to him, but for the simple and absolute _disgust_ he felt for himself.

'Am I insane? I have pondered _this_ for quite some time. If one is insane, one is not aware of one's status of insanity, is that not how it goes? Perhaps though, one is _so_ incumbered by the insanity that it seems quite fine and in reality, insanity has consumed them completely, leaving nothing but a drooling mess of ineptitude.'

"Heavy thoughts for a morning," he remarked dryly, rereading his last statement.  
Gaara stood and stretched then, tearing his eyes from the paper, he needed to do something else for a few minutes. Suddenly, he simply felt trapped. He wasn't sure why but he knew he needed to get out of his room for a little bit.

He adjusted his long sleeping boxers and his legs carried him down the stairs and into the kitchen. A place he found he spent entirely too much time in, but it was the best place to really, mope about and being entirely alone for at least a few minutes.  
His roommate, however, was not home this morning. Gone, to visit with his parents.  
So he was well and truly alone in the apartment. He opened the fridge and just gazed at the contents without really seeing them, before selecting a can of soda from the bottom shelf and slowly returning to his room. I am aware of my few friendships, but they all seem distant. As much as I know, I still feel otherwise. It is maddening.'

Sitting back at his desk, he gazed down at the paper before him. Sipping at his drink, he enjoyed the slight burn as it slid down his throat. His chest felt hollow. A gaping, sort of emptiness.  
Setting the can in the corner, where he would not hit it, he picked up his pencil and began to write a little more.

'I truly do not understand how I can go from being perfectly fine, to feeling as though I am completely worthless. It happens in a span of breaths, maybe in less time than that. But suddenly, everything is _dark_ and I feel utterly alone.'

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed on.

'I am more than this worthless feeling within me. I _know_ I am! Why then, am I tormented so?  
I was sure. I was certain. I had something akin to _faith_. I was not this broken mess!  
...Or was I? And I just..., lied so very well..., I fooled myself too?  
Sometimes..., I don't want to believe that. I don't want to. But I know..., I know deep down. I lied to myself too. I repressed everything. I forced myself to be optimistic, to believe the lies told to me, to believe in the _good_ in this world. And so I did. And when I _broke_ , everything came down around me. And the pieces..., I do not think they will ever align as they once did. Whatever I am now..., is what I will remain to be for the rest of my days.  
And honestly..., _I don't think I care_.'


	3. A Few Memories

'Something she said to me though..., has been rattling around my head for days. She mentioned that I may be a sociopath. But if I was, then I was such a good one, that I had her fooled. At the time, I laughed, as did she. However..., would it not make sense? Not that it changes anything, but I suppose it is merely an entertaining thought. Nevertheless, whatever I am, I am alone. At times, I prefer it this way. Other times..., I crave someone, just someone to be there with me. I suppose, sometimes, I am lonely. I despise that feeling however, I do not want to _need_ people.'

His lip curled in taste, Gaara took a quick drink of his rootbeer before resuming his writing.

'Memories will not leave me. As much as some fade, others threaten to overwhelm me. The ones I once so wanted to hold on to..., now...'

He stopped there, unable to continue, the afore mentioned memory swimming into focus as much as he wished it would leave him be.

 **He was sitting with his friend, Kiba, on the sofa of the brunette's grandmother. They had been talking, Gaara debating with himself on whether or not he wanted, really wanted to do what he was thinking of. He knew he wanted to, but the actual doing of the thing, was enough to drive him up the wall. It was nerve-wracking and actually, rather personal. And so, before he could chicken out of it, gently Gaara grasped the brunette's arm and brought the scarred skin of his wrist to his lips.  
** **"I know I can't realistically ask you to never do this again, but I'd like for you to remember my doing this, if naught else." And he smiled at the other boy.**

Now, however, he wasn't sure if he said those exact words, but he knew he said something along those lines. He almost clearly, remembered his actions. The look on the other's face, one of astonishment.  
He tried not to think of that day though, not any more. Before, he had clung to it..., but now, he just wanted that memory to stay buried, like so many others that were all too eager to disappear.  
He pulled himself from his memories, there was no use dwelling on what was. Though sometimes, it felt like that was all he did. He didn't want to remember.

'it's like I need to get out of my own head, but I can't. Sometimes, sure, but not always. Like when I'm alone at work, working, obviously. But still. I'm mostly alone with my thoughts. Dissecting every conversation, looking for hidden meanings, dwelling over stupid things said or done. It's maddening.  
Sometimes, I know, I well and truly hate myself. For whatever the hell I am. Isn't it terrifying, to not have a gods damned clue as to who the fuck you are? I think so. Cause anymore, I'm realizing, I have no idea who the hell I am. I lied, and lied, pretended. And now, alone, broken, and confused.  
I've known, for years, that this life is not for me. And when I told others? They simply told me, "It Gets Better". For a time, I was behind all of that, It Getters Better, GLSEN, DoS(Day of Silence), I even tried to start a GSA in high school. And you know what? Through it all, I have seen none of this bull shit. Maybe it takes longer, I thought, but then I realized. It's the same as it's always been. Life is naught but the same shit, different years. People, do not change.'

He glared at the wall, it was empty of posters, though he hoped to fill it in the coming months. He dropped his gaze with a sigh.  
'It always comes back to this. I make these foolish plans. I don't even know why any more. I _want_ to die. But for my  reason, I cannot do so yet. I won't live a long life, at any rate. I've more than assured that, without the help of genectics at that!'

He chuckled darkly, a twisted smile upon his lips.

'Death is truly all I want. Why I torture myself this way, I'll never understand. I will continue, only until my reason has been exhausted and once that day finally comes, I will be _no more_.'

His green eyes close as his head falls into his hands. His tiredness weighs his limbs. It's as though, suddenly, it feels like he hasn't slept in days. And though he feels this tiredness, he doesn't want to sleep. Because he knows, if he sleeps, he dreams. And right now..., any dream would be more of a nightmare. Some thought-twisted memory.  
He shuddered involuntarily before managing to make himself stand. He went down the stairs slowly, carefully, not keen on falling down them as he had many times before. With a bored expression, he changed the laundry around before going to the kitchen and staring at the food in the fridge and then in the cabinets. He wasn't precisely hungry, but he knew he should have alittle something before going to bed. Otherwise, he would wake up with a monstrous ache in his stomach and perhaps even feel sick. Never a fun way to awake. Eventually, he settled on some cereal. He sat in the cold living room to eat, his thoughts sluggish, for once not being a nuisance. He knew it wouldn't last, however.

With an impossibly sad smile, he returned to his room. He had to get to bed, he was off that night, afterall.


	4. Phases

Gaara stepped from the shower, shaking his slightly shaggy hair and spraying the floor with water. After drying himself, he set the towel upon the floor, to get the water he had thrown and stepped on to it. He pulled his long sleeping boxers on, a new pair, black. And then he pulled a very large yellow shirt on to his torso. With that finished, he picked up the towel and turned off the bathroom light, going to return to his room.

He stopped halfway there in confusion. "What am I doing?" he muttered, looking at the towel still clutched in his hand.  
Shaking his head, he returned to the bathroom and hung the towel. So used to carrying clothes back, he must have simply forgotten.

Turning to the staircase, he started down them. Glancing at his clothes, a strange smile appeared on his face as he thought, 'I'm a bumblebee!" He chuckled, continuing down the stairs in search of his comb.  
The next thought however, was sobering. 'I have many..., facets of self. To know them all..., would take immeasureable time.'

He sighed inaudibly and then stood in the kitchen, combing his still wet, shaggy red hair. It had gotten a little long in the recent months, he just hadn't felt like cutting it. Or really doing much to it. He had only recently bought the comb, his hair was often tangled and the comb fixed that. He set the comb back on the table, gazing at nothing for a moment, before he went to the fridge and picked up a soda. He carried it to his room and set it on the fan in the middle of the room.  
He sat then, on his bed, a little right of the fan that was blowing cold air about the room. Sometimes it was so stifling in the room, despite how cold he kept his apartment.

His Xbox was on the music screen, playing some music, the majority of it which provoked memories of a different time.  
He found his notebook and the pencil he kept with it.

'Sometimes, more often than is probably healthy, I do wonder if I am truly not insane. I go between so many different moods, so quickly. One moment, I can be this happy, almost child-like thing, and then the next I am brooding and self-hating once more. Memories I thought lost, rush back at songs I used to and still kind of love. More often, things I don't want to remember.  
I hate this, this forgetting. It's getting worse. I called someone the wrong name at work. He looks like someone I vaguely knew, years ago, and so I called him that, though I know for certain that is not his name. The worst part is I called him that to a fellow associate. She knew whom I meant, thankfully, but still! My entire face burned. I felt like such a fool.'

He sighed, and got up to get a drink before sitting back down, his legs folded indian style with the notebook propped on one leg.

Last night, his chest had hurt. Rather badly, in fact. Nothing, of course, in comparison to other physical pains he has felt, but the worse he has felt in regards to his chest. Probably not a good thing.  
He forgot about it actually, but..., for a moment it hurt again.

He looked over at the tv, Here I Am Alive by Yellowcard playing. An old favorite. He had very mixed feelings about this particular song lately.

'I want death. I can see that, I can live with that knowledge. But at the same time, I long for these other, material possessions. I know happiness is fleeting. I know that, I've always known that. Some days, are better than others. Wanting death really only sparks perhaps once or three times a week. It's like I wrote before, when I don't feel that way, I forget how truly terrible it is. I forget, and then the pain, is new.  
Truly, I feel beyond saving. In brutal honesty, I would prefer death over life. Despite everything I have. Or could have, even.'

He sighed and looked away.

'How much of this is free-will and how much is pre-ordained?  
I've often wondered, what gods and goddesses could allow such to be, but then I do suppose, if everyone had everything, we would have nothing. It is as one of my old teachers says, "Human nature pursues Strife."  
There would always be something, humans could never be complacent. Even if we had everything we desired. A sad truth, it seems.'

Just then, Human Race by Three Days Grace began to play.

He smiled slightly, this particular song had become a favorite in recent times.  
'If I could take my life into my own hands, if I could give myself the ability to pursue any dream, I do not know that I would pursue any dream but my ultimate choice. It makes sense, if I could have it, with no conscience of the would-be and what-if, if I could have my death, I would choose it. To have to wake no more, I would take it.  
I am tired. But it is so much more than that. Despite those who try to help, nothing else seems worth it. Not really.  
Though, I do not wish to hurt people by dying, I know I will however. Largely, suicide is seen as selfish. But really, when you are a prisoner of your own mind, is it not simply justice?'

"Dark thoughts," he mused aloud, rereading his writing.

'It always comes back to this, this darkness. Sure, there is light in the dark, but it is always eventually, snuffed out. In true Darkness, there is no light. I wonder if I have crossed that threshold yet, into the True Dark. I don't think so. Not yet. I think I was there, at the edge. Once or twice. But always, drug backwards. Is it better since I am not there? I don't think so. Life goes on, without any heed to those who can barely stand to get out of bed or look themselves in the mirror. We are forgotten by the world until they hear of our death and then they ask foolish questions. Sullying our death with their ignorance and trying to place blame. They can not see the beauty in it. We have freedom, at last! At long last, after suffering so much, we were granted freedom, but they never see it that way. They think Life is everything when really, Life is just a passing phase. We all die, eventually. Some of us are born wanting to.'


	5. Heavy

He gazed around his room, anger burning just beneath the surface. As much as he tried to will it away, it resisted and burned eve more fiercely.

'I know I sound like a child. But this isn't fucking fair. My roommate just squanders his money! But no, I can't do that. Instead, I save, buy as little as possible. I scrimp, whilst he buys expensive things, some of which that are completely unnecessary and could easily be substituted with cheaper things. Even though, I, am the one with the better job. I, sacrifice. I would love to squander my money on wants, on the few other things I need that are more expensive. But I do not. I refrain. Because I know I have bills to pay. And they come first.  
I was taught the value of money at a young age, it was nearly beat into me by my uncle. And with good reason.  
This is infuriating. Yet, I cannot do anything about it. I know what must be done, and so I will do it.

This, this is precisely why I view relationships as messy. Even this. Having a roommate is still a type of relationship. An infuriating one at times.

Nothing is worthwhile, it seems. Everything becomes boring quickly. Work is a welcome distraction from monotony. But even that, becomes monotonous.  
Sure, he spent time a friend, they enjoyed themselves. But still.  
For some unfathomable reason, he desired somoeone that would be more than a friend. It was annoying. People always complicated things. He didn't like people, he didn't want to want anyone.  
Not even the haunted attractions this year, seem interesting. Sure, I want to go, with a friend or three. But..., it just doesn't seem..., worth the money spent to go. It would be a slightly substantial sum. Though, I missed out last year, and it is why I've looked forward to this time of year. But..., now that it's here, I just don't _care_. Then again, I don't suppose I care about much any more.'

With a slightly angered sigh, Gaara looked away from his writing. He wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps he had judged being on medication too harshly. It worked for others, sometimes, they had to try different ones, before they found the right one.  
He still, bitterly, remembered what it had been like. He had been so _empty_ , all the time. It took away everything. It took so much, for him to feel even a little. He knew he didn't want to go back to being that way, but his old therapist, had suggested maybe going on some again, they could try a different dosage or even a different medication. Even so, he was skeptical. He didn't particularly, like the new woman, but they had met only once. An introductory type of thing more than anything. Perhaps, their next meeting, in a few days, would be more fruitful.  
Being medicated, might improve things, but then, it might also worsen them. Some antidepressants were known to cause suicidal thoughts. Not that he didn't already have those. He supposed, it would just make them worse, harder to ignore perhaps.

Before, he accepted being medicated because he was, more or less, pushed to it by his former boyfriend. He was tired of listening to Gaara's outbursts of anger and Gaara had been ridden with anxiety, much higher than it was currently. So, he had agreed and sought it out through the psychiatrist at the counseling center. He didn't particularly want to go back into that office, he would be weighed and measured in hieght. He understood why, but that did not mean he liked having to.  
He had been medicated for a few months, and through that time, he felt little. He didn't write, he didn't enjoy his games. He was unspeakablely bored, but nothing held his interest.  
He stopped taking his meds. He stopped going to counseling.  
His boyfriend had almost constantly bugged him about it. Demanding to know why. Gaara couldn't answer him, he knew none of his answers would placate the other male anyway. Once off the medication, he felt so much better. More like himself.  
Of course, the other male, was greatly displeased. Gaara didn't care though, he felt better without the stupid medication that he hadn't even wanted.

'Enough of that,' he thought returning his attention to the paper before him.

'I'm tired. But not in the usual way. Something feels off, but I can't place what it is. I just want to go to work and do something mindless that I can lose myself in. I don't like this fucking _listless_ feeling. Like I'm missing something, but gods know what the hell it is. It's simply maddening. The same time I want to meet someone, I don't want to. It would be so much fucking work, getting to know them, having to make time to do things with them. Making them feel all fucking appreciated and shit like that. But it wasn't like I just want someone to _fuck_. Sex is the last thing I want. I suppose, I want someone to cuddle. But even getting that comfortable with someone takes fucking time. Circles. I am going in circles. Everything just made so little sense. And really, I'm just tired of it all.'

He sighed heavily, and looked away once more. He had a strong urge to bribe someone of the drinking age to get him something to drink. It wasn't often that he imbibed, but sometimes, it was what he needed. It, if nothing else, made him feel more grounded for a little while. He didn't drink much, so the effect was more psychological than physiological. Either way, it worked.  
With another sigh, he closed the notebook, and laid down. He had work that night, so sleep was necessary, and soon. He laid awake for what seemed like forever, but eventually, he must have fallen asleep.


	6. Into the Past

Kabuto. His lip curled. Why had he ever thouht _that_ was a good idea?  
Honestly, he had seen him as someone that didn't know him. After getting to know the older male a little more, he found he still lived with his parents. And so, Gaara used that to his advantage. Keeping the relationship alive and then with mutual benefits, using him to get himself out of his current living situation. And so, for months, their relationship was fine. They lived together out of necessity, of needing to be free of their old dwelling. Not that Kabuto had been that eager to leave. Gaara had had to push him a little. Which was frustrating. Finally though, they got their own place, Gaara's current residence.  
Inevitably, they ended. As all relationships did.  
And he couldn't be happier. He was finally free of Kabuto. Sure, at first, it had been nice. Eventually though, as all he dated, they started to annoy him. He would repress the annoyance until it grew into hatred. And then the relationship would end, usually gradually taking months. He knew he should probably feel bad about using Kabuto the way he had, but he didn't.

He lacked..., what was it..., Compassion. Whatever that was. His best friend and ex, Zaku, had mentioned it to him. He said the red head really should attempt to learn the skill. It was important for relationships and such.  
He didn't understand why he needed to... Care about people. People were annoying at best. Although, he did desire some sort of relationship. If only for the occasional cuddle and maybe a fuck.  
For some unknown reason, especially lately, he'd been wanting to top someone. He wasn't even going to be terribly picky.

At work the night before, he had been stocking in the Pharmacy.  
His chest had been hurting off and on, the first half of the night. He was stocking the painkillers. One bottle caught his eye. 200 tablets, it said. Some odd amount of doses in the bottle. It sparked memories. The ache in his chest intensified.

He should have died.  
His life should have ended that night. Medically, it was pure fucking luck. He was jaded as fuck, after all the time that had passed. He still felt betrayed. Whatever gods there were, they were cruel. He hadn't wanted much.  
With effort, he shook his head, looking away from the pill bottle. He continued to stock and pushed the thoughts away.

He thought about texting Zaku, but he didn't want to bother him. Some days, they could have really deep conversations, and other days, they just surfacely spoke. He knew he still had feelings for the purple haired man, but he pushed them to the back of his mind whenever they tried to surface. Zaku was happy, he was going to be married soon. Well, not soon exactly, but soon enough.  
Zaku had been his first _love_. Among other things. He supposed, he would always feel for the older male. And he was fine with it, Zaku was an amazing friend.  
Zaku was probably busy anyway, he mused.

Shikamaru..., he thought lazily, the bastard was probably sleeping. With good reason though, he usually worked overnights. Too bad, they could have conversations for hours. The last two days, they'd spoken on the phone for over four hours, and then texted for a few hours. They spoke of all manner of things. It was like they had never fallen out of contact. Like they had never attempted to date.  
He was bitter over how it went, but he should have expected such. Shikamaru could do and did do, so much better than him. He'd honestly known from the beginning, it would never work. But he hoped, as always, vainly he had hoped.

His thoughts circled back to Kabuto and his current girlfriend. Kabuto was pansexual, and irritating thought. More so though, was his taste in women. Sakura Haruno. An annoying waif. He couldn't fathom what he saw in the pink haired annoyance. And he knew, for fact, the damned girl couldn't satisfy him. Not the way _he_ could. Once Kabuto had been made to feel, he was very, sexual.  
It was endlessly amusing, Kabuto claiming he didn't need good sex, that Sakura provided for him in other ways.  
In no way, did that mean he wanted Kabuto back, he just didn't understand why he wanted things to work so badly with Sakura.

Gaara looked over at the tv, some cartoon playing, distracting him for now.  
He wanted to do something, but even so, he had to go to bed soon. He worked the next three nights in a row. He wanted to game, but he knew he couldn't. He had to shower as soon as possible. Sighing, Gaara rubbed his eyes.  
Despite his past, the past he could barely remember, he wanted someone. Someone to come home to, some nights. Someone to game with. He didn't know where to find someone like that though, he wasn't social in the least. He thought about asking Zaku if he could find someone for him. Zaku knew people. He was considerably more active in the gay community.  
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He wanted to, but at the same time, he didn't want someone. People were messy. And he definitely liked his single status too much to relinquish it. Well then again, he desperately wanted a companion...

He growled lightly, before getting up, picking up his nightclothes and going to the bathroom. He stripped quickly and stepped into the tub, turning the water on and waiting for it to get hot enough.  
Showering took about twenty minutes, and when he returned to his room he felt better. Lighter. Sure he still wanted to do things he didn't have the time for, but he knew or rather hoped, he could do them the next morning. Nevertheless, he felt better. And for a while at least, that was good enough.


	7. Unafraid

'Do you have any idea what it's like to be disgusted with yourself? To hate that which you see every day in the mirror, the reflection looking as if it is mocking you. Do you know what it's like to be weak? To hate your weakness and know it is your own fault you feel this way because you instilled the hatred of it in yourself. And now, a grown adult, with more problems than could ever be dealt with.  
Not even therapy can fix the broken. For that, is what I am. I have known it was thus for years. I am broken and no amount of therapy or medications could ever hope to fix it.  
People, annoy me. Too much time spent with even one's company I thoroughly enjoy, can make me despise their presence or even their very existence.  
I know I could never love someone, the way I should. They would eventually get sick of me. I can't show I care about them in the way they desire.  
My memories are fading, I can barely remember much of anything. I feel worse every passing day. I can forget, for a while, but it always comes back.  
I'm tired of feeling this way. Of feeling so wretched. I know I'm beyond help. I know I won't get better. I want to be dead. Despite everything that has thus far kept me from my desire. I don't want to have to live anymore. I'm tired. It's been years of fighting. Nothing has changed. After all this time, nothing has changed. Not really.

I can't even be honest with my friends. Nor my therapist.  
So how the fuck could I ever hope to get better?

First, she gently entertained the idea of my being a sociopath, then she brushed it off by saying it was my depression making me isolated.  
I don't care either way. I can and will use people as I see fit. Survival of the fittest at it's finest. I feel nothing for them generally. And even if I feel anything anyway, it fades quickly.

Which reminds me..., Kabuto...  
Yellowcard is one of my favorite bands. After their album, Lift a Sail, came out I became absolutely obsessed with all the songs on said album. One of Kabuto's friends, also a slight yellowcard fan, claimed he too, would be sad all the time if he listened to them as I was. Kabuto, of course, told him his friend's theory. Writing off his depression, as simple sadness. Still, it infuriates me. Their new album is beautiful. Sad, yes, but it's a beautiful sadness. It's hopeful.  
That he would accuse me of simply being _sad_ , I..., I can't fathom it. I think that was one of the driving factors in our inevitable parting.  
Kabuto claimed to have suffered depression in his past, to fight it still on some days, and maybe he did. Though, his saying what he did, I think that's what sparked everything. Because I knew, I could never be open with him. Not really. He never noticed anything wrong. But then, neither did I. I didn't care about him as I should have, as a proper boyfriend or even a fucking friend, should. I know that now, neither of us is blameless in the fallout. It was simply bound to happen.

I try to be whom I wish to be. It never works though. I'm weak. I'm a disgrace. I'm broken and irrepairable.  
And it's with this knowledge, that I know my end goal has never been clearer. It will happen, I don't know when I'll tire of the charade. I simply, _can't_ , not much longer. I hate myself. Nothing I can do will change it. I can't be fixed, only one thing will grant me peace.  
It will be a solemn thing, a joyous thing, for I will finally know freedom. I look forward to the day. It is a certainty, one I'm unafraid of. I can't hasten it, I know that. It will be, when it will be. As it must be. Things of this nature cannot be rushed.

Sure, I wrote up a silly 'Safety Plan', but honestly, it will not stop me from doing as needs to be done. Everything is clear. As it should be. I know what I must do, even if I do not know yet when. My life is my own, to live or forfeit as I see fit. I have, what is it..., sovereignty over my own body. Therefore, if I so wish, I can do as I please. And I intend to. Fully.  
I don't understand fear, the way most people do. Something can be frightening, worrying, or the like, but to inspire fear? I..., do not think I rightly fear anything. Not because I think myself invincible, but because I welcome whatever comes and I will not back down from what is. I will do as is needed because it is needed.  
"There is no fear, in a dream." That line, is from a Nightwish song, I can't recall which, but perhaps that is why I am unafraid. Perhaps all of this, is naught but a dream. And one day, I will wake, whole and unbroken.  
Perhaps, perhaps not. I suppose it doesn't really matter, now does it? No, not really, as I will never know until it comes to pass.

Fear dictates so much of human life, and I cannot grasp the why's of it. Why fear anything? Enjoy what is before you and if you do not, go elsewhere and enjoy what you find. You are your own master, the only thing holding anyone back, is themself.  
Whatever it is I am supposed to do in this life, I will do. And then I will die. As I should. We all have some Purpose, even if it takes one's whole life to find it, we all have one. I embrace whatever mine is, I tire of this life and if completing my Purpose will allow me to be rid of it, so be it. Come whatever may. I am, as I always was, unafraid.'

With that sentence, Gaara set his pencil down upon the notebook and stood. He stretched languidly, before exiting his room and traveling down the stairs to the kitchen. He wandered the small room, looking in cabinets and the fridge, before deciding on cold Pop tarts, Wild Berry flavor. With that decision made, he tromped back up the stairs and to his room. Using the Smartglass app on his phone, he made the next episode play as he ate. He gave the notebook no further looks, intent upon the television and his breakfast.


	8. No Answers

Blue eyes stared out at the massive store. His hands flexed on the steering wheel of his new, used, car. He hadn't wanted to get it, but he needed one. Just another bill, he told himself. He shook his head, his hair not moving an inch, he'd sprayed the hairspray pretty thick, it was spiked, but cleanly, if that made sense. He had to look nice. He had an interview. Sure, he had another job, but that one was seasonal, he needed something that would keep him, assuming he didn't mess anything up. He bit his bottom lip, absently chewing on it, as he glanced at the time. He needed to go in. He fiddled with the sleeve of his bright orange button-up. He didn't want to, interviews always made him nervous.  
With a soft sigh, he exited the car and walked into the looming building. There was a significant amount of people about, and he kept his head down, making a face at the floor. He despised crowds. That was why he preferred the nightshift. So why, his interview would be during the day, he had no idea. It was annoying, but necessary.  
He could feel people's gazes burning into him, wondering why he looked so dressed up, in such colors too. Though, he was used to getting stares from the colors he wore, he always preferred bright colored clothes, they hurt people's eyes and his own, but it made him stand out. He wasn't just another faceless worker. He was, Naruto Uzumaki! And he was going to make something of himself. No matter how long it took. With his mouth set in a grim smile, he continued on to the Customer Service area, he was supposed to ask for a specific person there, and then he would be directed to the person that was doing interviews.

Just as he rounded the corner, he saw a lanky red head turn around, dressed in the typical uniform of the store that hung off his frame. The red head didn't seem to notice him, or anyone for that matter, and then he was gone and Naruto realized he had been staring and he blushed fervently, looking back at the floor. Waiting, for the few people ahead of him in the line, it was always busy, even at this ungodly hour.  
Butterflies stirred in his stomach, he pretended it was due to the impending interview and _nothing_ else.

Gaara groaned once he sat in his car. He was fucking sore. His bloody feet especially, it seemed the need for new shoes was growing. It was bad enough they were coming apart, but now the bloody soft bit was wearing out. He yawned once before turning the car on and after turning on the radio, driving home.  
He took his shoes off and prepared his lunch for the next day, sticking it in the fridge before climbing the stairs. Once in his room, he removed all the items from his pockets and found a new set of sleep clothes then went to the bathroom. He regarded himself in the mirror for a moment, his hair looked nice at least, he chuckled as he undressed and then stepped into the shower.  
Redressed and hair still dripping a little, Gaara sat on his bed, finding the xbox controller and turning on the xbox and the tv. He found his notebook as everything came on. He turned a cartoon on as he settled comfortably on the bed to do some writing.

'Always

As I sit here,  
Letting feelings wash over me,  
In the silence of the night,  
The peace,  
It's shattered.  
That darkness that always welcomes me...,  
It's reaching out towards me again.  
Just out of reach,  
I'll fall,  
I always do.  
To wallow in my misery alone,  
As always.'

With a sigh, he flipped to a new page, and began writing once more.

'It's like, no matter how well, I think it's going, something, anything, will come along and bring me back down. I'm so tired of this up and down. There has got to be something that can be done about it, right? I don't know though. It would probably be medication. Not something I really want, even if it could help.  
If I'm honest with myself, I don't know what it is I really want. Not anymore. I mean, there are a few constants, to what I want. But overall, that overall want, keeps changing. I used to be so sure, of everything. I saw things clearly, back then. I saw everything, in black and white. This or that. There really was no in between. Not to me. Now..., now everything is gray or has the potential to be. I need my certainty. But it's fled, like so much else.  
I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I know, if I need it, I can talk to someone, there are numerous resources. I know that. But I don't care enough, to use them. Because I'm at that point, that point where nothing, nothing at all, seems worth while. And I'm beyond tired of fighting.  
I used to be able to tell about certain things.  
I think this is one of those things. I think I'm at a crossroads in my life. One of many. Except before, the answers were clear, and now, they're all muddled. I don't know which way to turn. I know the choices are rather obvious, but even so, I don't know. And I'm tired, of not knowing. I'm just so tired...'

He closed the notebook, setting it on the floor with the pencil, before laying back as he had before. He pressed his face into the mattress, his eyes closed as tears fought to escape. He forced them away, but didn't move, content in the darkness behind closed lids. Gaara took a shuddering breath to steady himself. He would find no answers to anything today. As much as his mind demanded them, he knew he would not find them yet. He pushed the button for the next episode and attempted to lose himself in the hilarity of the show.


	9. Back Then

He had been scrolling through Facebook when he saw it. It was one of those new Memory things. He sat there, open mouthed, staring at his phone. It was dated from two years ago. He set it down and continued to sit there, on the couch, his hands neatly folded between his knees as he gazed at the carpet. He sat, motionless, for what must have been a while because his upper back began to ache before he finally tore himself from those thoughts and started his breakfast. With that finished, he plodded up the stairs and changed before finding his notebook. He had much to write about it seemed.

'When the bad takes over, you forget all the good. The bad smothers it, makes you forget there was ever any good. Until, the bad, is all that's left. And there is _nothing_ you feel you can do. I can't believe how close I came... And that, that memory from two years ago..., I... I forgot. Completely. That was one of the best days of my life. And _I forgot_.  
I'm not alone. I know that, even though it feels that way. I still want that, I know I do. Even on my darkest days, I know there's someone, someone that cares. But even so, to think of how close I was that day. It scares me. I mean, the desire will not simply vanish. But..., to think of how far I've come...  
I'm forgetting. Things I hold dear, things I couldn't care less about. Will I forget myself? My few friends? My own name? Will I become someone else?  
I don't know. I'm terrified of finding out. But I can't slow it. And I don't think it's reversible. Memory is a tricky thing.  
All of these things..., the daily struggles, I don't feel as though I can share them with anyone. I don't think anyone would care, either.  
As much as it can appear that I don't care, I always care too much. I've always felt things deeper than other people. Cared more than they did. Understood things on a deeper level. I could feel their pain too, sometimes, I couldn't distinguish it from my own.  
Some days, I still can't believe he's gone. I don't usually let myself think about it. Ever. I don't want to remember that. Even at the time, I never let it affect me. Not like it should have. I insisted I was fine, and I felt fine. I felt _nothing._ I knew I should feel, but I didn't. I honestly thought it was better that I didn't, that I was better because I didn't feel anything at the death of another.  
Am I a monster?  
Sometimes, I feel like I am. I know I have the potential to be. I've known that, for years. I know I'm intimidating to some. I used to wear two monster tabs on my necklace, signifying that I, was in fact, a monster. None of my few friends ever caught on, and the necklace itself, eventually broke though I still have it.

Each song, holds a memory. Or ten. Some, stronger than others. Others, so painful, I can't even listen to that song anymore.  
I don't like to think about my life. Where I'm going, where I've been. I want to live in the present. But I have so many regrets...  
And, there's not really anything for me here, in the present. It's all an endless dreg. Work, sleep, repeat. I know there's more than that, like on my days off. But still. It's like I'm missing out on life. But even then, it's not like I have friends to enjoy said life with. And even then, most days, I don't see anything to enjoy.  
Again, I wasn't always this way. I used to see the beauty in the world. That's why I sought to be a photographer, professionally. Before I learned what it was really like. I wanted to capture the fleeting beauty of this world, for all to see it. To capture that which was so undeniably beautiful and share it with the whole world. I believed strongly in that, but then, something changed. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was me? But suddenly, I didn't care about the beauty of the world anymore, I didn't care about much of anything. I..., I smiled less, I laughed less. I found fewer and fewer enjoyments. I used to have such hope. For everything. Now..., now I'm just bitter and angry, and so gods damnedly sad.  
There was one girl, or woman rather, that I used to share everything with. She was beautiful and I loved her as an older sister. I wanted, desperately, to see the world as she did. I wanted to share her views, to be her best friend, despite our age difference. I was but a child, well a teenager, and she an adult. But she meant so much to me. Though..., as great as it was, it didn't last. It never does. We very, very seldom talk any more. I still feel about her now, as I did then. I wish we could have been better friends, actually hung out in other places, talked about other things. Some days..., I forget I ever knew her. And that alone, is enough to bring me to tears. They never fall, but they sit there, and I bow my head. She meant so much to me, for years. But then..., things changed. I, changed.

And so, I sit here, and faintly or vigorously, remember. The life I once had. The person I once was. I can hardly believe it, but I know it was. I cannot decide whether to weep or to sit in silence. Who I was and who I am..., they are so radically different. I wouldn't recognize myself. Even so, I know I could never be that person again. Sometimes, I don't want to remember. I'm terrified to lose it, but it seems, I'm also terrified to keep it.  
Sometimes, my chest hurts. Sometimes, it's my heart.  
I only wish I could go back and tell everyone that meant something to me, just how much they meant. I wish I hadn't been so..., convinced I was right. Though..., this uncertainty is maddening, perhaps I'm better for it... '

Gaara sighed, his eyes downcast, shadowed.  
He closed the notebook and replaced it on the floor. After a quick survey of the room, he left it, going to shower. He stood beneath the warm water, gazing at the tiled wall before him. He didn't cry, but silently stared, lost in the swirl of memories.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the lack of Naruto in this chapter, but rest assured, he will be appearing in the majority of the remaining chapters after this one rather important chapter. Said important chapter, will be written and posted soon. As always, thanks much for the reviews!**


	10. One Year Ago

'I wonder if it's bad that I think of that day as an anniversary. It probably is. Unhealthy. To remember it as such. Even so, I don't know what else to name it. It's almost upon me. I can hardly believe it. But I know it is so. I never thought it would come to pass. Honestly. My life is just a day to day. No plans for the future, no looking towards the past. I think about what I'm going to do immediately and maybe at most, a week or two in advance. Things..., aren't necessarily better or worse. I suppose, overall, things _are_ better.  
I don't like to think about it. About what was or what is. Or even, what could be.  
I don't know much anymore. I'm unhappy with my self. I want to be able to hold conversations and not instantly regret opening my mouth. I want to be some semblance of normal.  
I'm fine with being an asshole, I hate how every little thing is sugar-coated.  
Everything else though, is a nuisance.  
My moods fluctuating, my awkwardness, my growing weight, my growing loneliness despite my desires of being alone. Gods if everything isn't infuriating!

As that day grows closer, I still can't believe how long it's been. Everything that's changed. Everything that's..., gone on. I can't help but morbidly wonder, what it would have been like if I had succeeded. Of course, I never let myself continue on this train of thought. I don't want to think about it, or at least, that's what I tell myself. I do want to think about it though, I want to know what it would have been like. I still think I should have. By all rights, I should have. But something, something, prevented it. And still, I'm filled with bitterness. I feel cheated. Betrayed.  
I wonder if I'll ever get past these feelings. Theoretically, I should, though realistically..., I'm not sure that I will. I should let it go, get over it. Forget. Not think about it like I have been. It's no longer relevant. But it won't leave me. I keep thinking about what should have been.'

He sighed, his hair falling in to his eyes. He didn't want to think about these things. He knew he needed to, but he didn't want to. It brought back..., memories. Things he would much rather forget. But still, his thoughts always turns towards what happened.  
His hands curled into tight fists, the short nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.  
That had no effect on his mind though, it never did. The memories rushed at him, unbidden. A force, all on their own. Memories of _that_ night, the day _after,_ and the one conversation he had all but forgotten...

 **He sat downstairs, laptop on his lap. He had worked that day, a long shift. But, since his boyfriend left work before him, he had plenty of time and leave to purchase a necessary item. One he knew would not be approved of, considering how tight money was. But soon, that wouldn't matter.  
He turned his thoughts from that, focusing instead on the commission he was writing. A commission by his furry friend, Kurenai. She had a cat fursona and he had a racoon. His coon didn't appear in this story, but her boyfriend's sona did. He smiled, he loved writing for people. Having their sonas go on various adventures or explore romance.  
With a sigh, the redhead checked his progress. He wanted it to be as long as possible. He didn't want to owe her anymore after tonight... He took a careful swig of his monster, another item Kabuto would bitch endlessly about, before setting it back on the floor in front of him. With the liquid still in his mouth, he tilted his head back and tossed in a handful of pills before swallowing and continuing to type.  
Hours passed, but he paid them no mind, all while growing sleepier. He had both headphones in his ears and when he looked up, having faintly heard something, he saw Kabuto glaring down at him from the stairs.**

 **"Are you coming to bed soon?"**

 **"Doubtful. I want to finish this commission."**

 **"Ugh. Whatever. I just wanted us to sleep together."**

 **Gaara neglected to answer, his eyes sliding down, but Kabuto hadn't moved yet.  
"You know I hate it when you have both of those in your ears. I was calling for you for five minutes."**

 **He sighed inaudibly, but nodded, returning his attention to his laptop.  
Kabuto scoffed and returned up the stairs.  
Lately..., they fought about seemingly everything. Nothing he did was right. He'd tried being affectionate, but Kabuto wasn't interested. It didn't matter.  
He pushed the heavy thoghts aside and continued writing.  
**

 **He wrote, drank and popped more pills, as the night grew later and later. Finally, barely able to keep his head up, Gaara finished the commission and saved it before sending it in a message over Facebook. With that finished, he turned his laptop off and popped another handful and finished his monster.  
Gods, he was tired. He smiled sleepily at his empty can. Finally. He didn't feel sad, no remorse this time, not after the first handful. It couldn't be stopped now. He was committed. It was a good thing too. He checked his back pocket, feeling for the note he had written before starting the commission. He assumed Kabuto would find it on him.  
He took a trip to the bathroom before climbing into the massive bed Kabuto had insisted on getting. He tried to cuddle up to him but the other male just moved further away. With a dejected sigh, Gaara rolled on to his other side and held his bear close to his chest. He didn't cry. He wouldn't give him that.  
It didn't take long before Gaara tumbled into the dark.**

Even now..., he wasn't sure how much of that was really true. He could barely remember it. Not all the important details. But he remembered writing and sitting there, popping pills as he wrote. He knew that.

 **He sat, clutching his teddy bear, alone in the dark apartment. He had taken pills, he thought enough to kill him. He was wrong though, he just got sick, after he climbed back into his bed and laid there, clutching his bear. He felt so empty, so alone, so slighted. All he had wanted, was death. An end to his anger, his sadness. Eventually, he fell asleep, where strange dreams plagued his mind.**

 **He dreamnt of a deep darkness in which a figure resided. The figure's name was Sid. He had no idea who or what "Sid" was, but Sid only watched him from his space in the Darkness. He stared out at him, his lips attempting to form the words of asking, no begging, for death. Sid only offered a stare in response, silent, as his Darkness swallowed everything near. He was left there, gazing at Sid, his belly feeling like an empty pit, his eyes feeling so..., so very heavy. It wasn't a heaviness of death though, it was of being tired beyond tired.**

 **He had been fighting for over seven years, almost eight now. Fighting his rage, his sadness, everything about himself he despised. He thought it was supposed to get easier, once he left high school. It did not, however, it only got more difficult. None to rely on but himself as old friendships dissolved further. He loved but that one loved too quickly, unable to see and fully grasp how broken he was.  
**

 **That one silver haired man he loved, he never stopped to wonder why the other man was so quiet all the time, he never wondered why he was always so closed off, he simply accepted it and went on with his life, loving him still.**  
 **He had gone to work, and he was finally awake. His belly still feeling like a pit, his movements listless. He still clutched his bear, whispering to it. He had just wanted death..., not this remorse. He wanted to end. So tired of fighting, so tired of everything.**  
 **He hated himself, his life, his job. He was filled with so much anger, so much hate. All he had wanted was to end it all. He just wanted an end. Believing himself beyond help, he sought to take matters into his own hands, but again, he was denied. Death, not for him, despite everything he wanted.**

 **Even when he was with his love, he felt alone. He tried to explain everything but his love didn't understand, no matter how many different ways he tried. He was so tired of fighting...**  
 **He sought his end and was met with silence. Still, his heart beat in his chest, he walked, he drew breath, his mind plagued by more nightmares. He felt far beyond saving, he didn't want it, all he wanted was a death, painful or not, it didn't matter, so long as he no longer had to wake into this world.**

 **Since waking, he kept seeing things out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't schizophrenic... Unless it a mild case could be brought upon by stress? He didn't know, wasn't even sure he cared. What did it matter? His love wouldn't be home for hours yet. He had planned this day for months, but of course, like every other time, it had failed.**  
 **He wanted to hurt, to feel, he wanted to lash out at something, he wanted to see his body bleed to truly know he still walked this planet on the living plane. He was at a loss though, unsure of what he could do to make himself feel pain. He wanted it, yes, but what could he do that he had not already? He used to punch things, make his knuckles bruise and bleed, it always felt good. Blades always refused to cut him, pills would not kill him.**  
 **He was a walking corpse. He knew that. He wanted to die but was refused at every turn.**

 **He forced himself to eat something, perhaps that would make his belly feel less like a pit.**  
 **After the warmth of the food settled in his belly, he sat alone, in the dark with his bear, his phone sitting beside him. He was so lost...**

 **He used to be so strong, so sure, so..., admirable. What had happened?**  
 **When did he become so fragile? So lost? So afraid? When did he change into this mess?**  
 **Or did he not change, but fool himself as well, thinking himself strong, able, intelligent, better. He lied so well, he even fooled himself into thinking his charade could last forever.**  
 **It and he had crumbled to dust. He was just a scared, weak, little boy. That's all he'd ever been. He just hid it, from himself, from his love, from his friends. He was an exceptional liar, he read, he learned, he absorbed, he became what everyone wanted to see. It wasn't hard, tiring, but not hard. Not really, not unless his real self started to show through the cracks. He was..., tired.**  
 **All he was, was a child, living in a world he had dreamed for himself out of everything he had read. He even had a love. Even if the love couldn't see past his lies, that love was so very true.**

He could scarcely believe he'd felt that way about Kabuto then. But he had. He _had_ loved him. Despite everything...  
As Gaara sat there, in disbelief, another memory swam to the surface.

 **His friend, Kiba, had had a bad night, and he wanted company. Gaara readily accepted, and drove over, making up some bullshit excuse to Kabuto, who didn't approve of their friendship.  
** **The two conversed long into the night, sitting together, in Kiba's dark room. Kiba, on his bed, and Gaara upon the floor.  
** **Somehow, they got onto the subject of secrets, and Kiba bade Gaara tell him one. Gaara was silent a while, thinking, and Kiba ever-so-patiently waited, his soft brown eyes holding nothing but openness. Gaara thought awhile but eventually came up with one. One he knew the other male could understand.  
** **"About a month ago, I tried to commmit suicide."**

 **Kiba only looked a little shocked, but of course, asked, "Why?"**

 **"Because..., despite my having the proverbial everything to live for, I wanted and still want, none of it. If I could, I would die. I am tired of this." He gestured around them, indicating everything.**

 **"I understand," Kiba said sympathetically, gazing at him with a small smile.**

Gaara sat on his bed, a year later. A year, after that fateful night.  
He had tried and failed, three times, to kill himself. Three times. A year ago, marked the last attempt. He could hardly believe a year had already passed. He rarely spoke to Kabuto, Kurenai, or Kiba anymore.  
Not that he didn't want to speak to Kiba, but he felt that distancing himself from him would be good. He had feelings for him, stupid, never-to-be feelings.

Kurenai and he had spoken on occasion since then, she commissioned him occasionally, and he still owed her from her last one, but he was waiting for her to tell him what it was she wanted for her next story.  
As for Kabuto..., he would rather not talk to him. The mere thought of him was enough to spark annoyance.

And now, a year later. He wasn't sure what he wanted out of life.  
He still wanted to die, that was clear. But what about the rest of his life? What about now? He didn't feel like attempting an OD or stabbing himself and bleeding out currently. Instead.., he felt like he was on the precipice of some great change. Perhaps this change could be good. But it could also be very bad.  
He sighed.  
He used to know, and now..., it's like he's a newborn. Unsure and unknowing.  
His eyes falls closed. What hope could he have? If anyone found out all of this, how could they ever hope to be with him? He harbored feelings for a friend, he had attempted suicide, he still wanted to. He was a callous, uncaring, asshole. How could anyone even want to be his friend?

He looked away from his notebook, deciding he was done writing for the day. In a way, he supposed, he felt better. Though.., maybe not in the way he had hoped he would. Maybe not...


	11. Time

'As winter approaches, I can feel those old feelings creeping back in. Statistics prove, more people commit suicide during winter. I wonder if I'll become just another statistic. I had vowed, before, to never be one.  
Each day, I hate myself a little more. I know it's not good, but I can't help it. I just..., I don't feel like myself. My image for what I would like to be, does not at all match with what I am. I'm tired.  
I've thought about it, more than once in the last few days. Though, there are two events that still need to transpire before I make a decision. The cliche is that no one will miss them when they're gone, but even so. It's true. No one will. I'm really just a sarcastic asshole. I'm dark. I say the wrong things. My jokes are impossibly stupid.

I suppose though, there is some good that's occurred recently. A blond boy, Naruto, has been joining me outside on breaks. He tries to be quiet and not interrupt much when I'm reading, but sometimes, I talk to him. He's nice enough, attractive, but..., I don't know that he'd like me in that way. And even if he did, what of it?  
He already told me he's into men, because he said he didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression about him. At the time, I had chuckled with a slight smile. Whether or not he knew I was attracted to males as well, was up to his perceptiveness.  
We've spoken a few times as we've worked near each other for a few brief periods. He's interesting enough, single, and happens to be an xbox gamer. We exchanged gamertags, in hopes of chatting over Live if not gaming together on occasion.

I am..., hesitant for anything to be more than friendship especially as we work together. On one hand, I hope he loses interest in even friendship, but on the other, I suppose, I hope we could..., be something.  
I don't know what exactly, but something. It's..., nice to have someone to talk to. Though I haven't yet confided about my depression and all of those fun things. I do wonder, no..., I bet, when I do, it'll scare him away. And, it will be a good thing. Someone like him shouldn't get mixed up with someone like me. It would only dissolve. And I don't want to hate him.'

Gaara sighed as he leaned back into the pillows on his bed.  
He honestly liked Naruto, but wasn't sure what, if anything, could be between them. Aside from their friendship.

'I'm sick. Sick of everything. Like I'm walking a tightwire everyday, everything is starting to feel forced. I remember, when I'm alone. Friends, I know I could tell, but I can't. Cause they aren't here. They aren't me. They don't know. I know that's unfair. Sometimes, I just can't take it anymore. I want to be done. Maybe this is the nightmare, and death will be waking up. I just..., I don't want to anymore.  
Things just keep piling up. Reasons to give up. It's been what..., eight years? How can I continue like this? Because I don't want to. Not anymore. I could take the final steps. It wouldn't take much. Just a few things to do.  
Death, wouldn't leave me remorseful. It would be welcome. I'm tired.

How can I keep doing this?'

Eyes shining with unshed tears, Gaara looks away as his phone buzzes and the screen lights up, indicating a text message. Blinking a few times, he unlocks his phone and swipes down, to get the message. It's from Naruto.

"Hey buddy! Wanna game later? I'm off tonight. :D We could even go to the other's place and have some split-screen gaming!"

Naruto...  
And then..., Gaara smiles. It's not gone, not that easily, but it's receded.  
"We can game yeah, I'm going to get my tattoo pretty soon. I won't feel like driving much after, but if you'd like, you can come over after I get up. It'll be pretty late, but I don't care if you don't."

"Sweet! Anything you want me to bring with? Like snacks or cash for take out?"

The smile, turns into a grin, Naruto just seems to have that affect...  
Would they be something? Would he confess everything to Naruto? And lastly, would he ever beat his depression?  
Only time would tell...


End file.
